


possibilities

by bookhobbit



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Caning, In Media Res, M/M, asexual kink, there's more aftercare in this fic than actual play because apparently that's my style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/pseuds/bookhobbit
Summary: Sacrifices, and things that are not sacrifices. And also, the joys of caning.





	possibilities

**Author's Note:**

> I know the anon collection isn't fully anonymous, I just don't want this directly attached to my profile I guess. I don't think it's quite polished, but I don't know how much more polished I'm willing to make it, and BDSM (and aftercare) is something I'd enjoy seeing explored more for this book. Be the niche you want to see in the fandom, I guess?

"Count," said Mr Norrell in a reproachful tone.

Strange moaned. "Five," he said, raggedly, and wiggled restlessly in Mr Norrell's lap. He could scarcely contain restlessness, his need for more touch, more roughness, _more_.

"None of that, Mr Strange," said Mr Norrell. "Remember the rules." He brought the cane down on Strange's thighs again.

Strange screamed, a short sharp noise, and clenched his toes with the effort of holding still. His bones felt hot and liquid, his whole body crackling with lightning. "Six," he gasped.

"Very good," said Mr Norrell. The next strike was a little harder -- a reward, possibly. The part of Strange capable of observing this was quite distant from most of the rest of him, which was focusing the almost inescapable urge to press himself down into Mr Norrell's lap, or arch towards the cane, or something else currently off-limits. "Seven."

Mr Norrell made a noise of thoughtful satisfaction, which, in Strange's state of wound-up need, caused him to moan.

"Really, Mr Strange," said Mr Norrell, but he did not sound cross. He caned Strange again.

Strange's vision went white as it landed, and for a moment he thought he might faint. Two more left -- he was _not_ going to be defeated -- only it had been so long since the last time and he was so, so, _so_ in need of this, and he wanted so _badly_ to be touched, and -- and --

Another blow landed before he'd counted. He gasped, "Eight, n-nine--" and gave in to the urge to move. Mr Norrell pushed him firmly back down, and said, "Do you want the last one, or don't you?"

He sounded so precisely like the old Mr Norrell -- the one who chided Strange for drinking tea too close to the books -- that Strange would have laughed if he weren't about to topple over the edge of some sort of abyss that he'd never been able to name but always longed for.

"Please," said Strange, "Please, please, oh god."

Mr Norrell made another noise of satisfaction. Strange, tense, waiting, heard him tap the cane gently against the bed, as if to torment, and then he brought it down one final time.

Strange screamed again, long and loud, and arched himself against Mr Norrell. Having made it to the last, he was permitted to move how he liked, and move he did -- pressing as close as he could get from his very undignified position sprawled across the bed and Mr Norrell's lap. Well, dignity be damned. He turned himself around, pulled Mr Norrell down, and kissed him hard.

Mr Norrell caught Strange by the shoulders and held him, as if he were something very rare indeed and could not be trusted not to disappear. They lingered kissing for several minutes, Mr Norrell neat and precise and dry as he always was, and Strange messy and still desperate to be touched somewhere, anywhere. Mr Norrell's hand strayed down from Strange's shoulders to his back, to his hips, up along his waist and ribs.

"Jonathan," he murmured, dropping _Mr Strange_ as he usually did when these ventures were over.

Strange bit him gently.

"You're distracting me terribly," said Mr Norrell.

"I know," said Strange, and bit him again.

Mr Norrell endured this with apparent enjoyment for a few minutes, and then gently pushed him down against the bed. "Enough," he said.

Strange nodded and wiggled to lay on his stomach. He knew what was next, for they had discussed it beforehand, and developed it into a routine in their previous explorations.

Mr Norrell got up, and padded over to the cupboard in the dressing-room. Strange heard the familiar sounds of him opening it, extracting a jar of ointment, and coming back, his bare feet nearly but not quite noiseless against the carpet.

"There now," said Mr Norrell, climbing back up on the bed, "You did quite well. Aside from a few infractions. Quite, quite well."

Strange made a soft mumbled noise of of pride. As much as he enjoyed the striking, the praise afterwards was almost as good. Mr Norrell was never the sort to be free with compliments, and though they were equals now, Strange supposed he would never tire of being reassured.

He sighed and stretched a little as Mr Norrell rubbed the ointment on. Curious, he thought, what one can become accustomed to. When they'd first begun, the mere sight of Strange in a nightshirt had nearly caused Mr Norrell to flee the room. And now, he was lying on the bed stark naked and being coddled, as if it was business as usual. He stretched a little more, enjoying the soothing, cool feeling of the ointment on the stingy heat of his thighs. It helped restore a little of his good sense. Or as much good sense as he ever had afterwards.

Mr Norrell got up and put the ointment away. He returned, and dropped Strange's nightshirt over him.

Strange made a protesting sound.

"On with it," said Mr Norrell, in his normal voice, not his -- caning voice, as Strange now thought of it.

"'m tired."

"Precisely my point. I intend to sleep in the same bed as you, and there are some indignities I will not be party to. Besides, you'll be cold."

With a room sufficiently warm for Mr Norrell's comfort, it would be difficult indeed for Strange to feel a chill, but he took the point and put the nightshirt on.

Mr Norrell, already fully-dressed in his nightclothes, climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over both of them. Strange wrapped his arms around him, and sighed contentedly.

"I take it," said Mr Norrell, "that this was what you wanted."

"Mm," said Strange, less a word than a purr.

"Good."

"I can take a lot more." Strange lifted his head a little to look at Mr Norrell. "I have before. With Arabella, I--"

"I would take it as a favour if you would refrain from mentioning your wife when we're..." Mr Norrell gestured.

"Of course. I apologise."

Mr Norrell cleared his throat. "I thought that was a reasonable amount for our first real attempt, in any case." He paused meaningfully. "You screamed."

"That happens," said Strange solemnly.

"Yes. Yes, indeed," said Mr Norrell. "Well. There is no one to hear us, I suppose."

"One of the few benefits of being in Eternal Night," agreed Strange. He untangled himself from Mr Norrell a little. "If it troubles you, I can try to--"

"No," said Mr Norrell quickly. "It is no trouble."

"Well, I would not wish to tax your patience more than necessary."

"Tax my--?"

Strange hesitated. "It is, I know, a great sacrifice--you are not of the inclination--"

"Oh!" said Mr Norrell. "Not at all."

"I suppose you think me very selfish," said Strange. "Since I cannot reciprocate in any way."

"Not at all. Was I not part of the arrangement?"

"Yes, but I thought perhaps it was--to keep me out of trouble. And to stop me from bothering you."

Mr Norrell gave him a look over the covers. "I doubt if anything could accomplish the former, and as for the latter..." He shrugged, and did not explain himself.

"Still... It seems as though it can hardly be an enjoyable occupation for you, without the, well, when Arabella and I did it, it was for a purpose. For you, I don't know what that would be."

Mr Norrell seemed to blush. "But you underestimate the degree of aesthetic satisfaction which comes from, erm--" His eyes swept up and down as much of Strange as he could see. "It is no great sacrifice. I assure you."

Strange felt some soft and sea-green feeling blossom in himself. "Aesthetic satisfaction?"

Mr Norrell plowed onward, heedless of this. "Indeed, if anyone is making sacrifices is it not you? I do not, after all, touch you."

Strange raised an eyebrow. "What do you call it?"

"You know what I mean. You seemed quite...uncomfortable."

Strange laughed. "If by uncomfortable you mean, ah, in a state of some excitement, then do not let it concern you. It will fade. Did it trouble you?"

"No, not really, but I should think it would trouble _you_."

"If I really require satisfaction of that nature, I will handle it myself."

"Ah," said Mr Norrell, sounding puzzled, and then "Oh," sounding embarrassed.

"Believe me," said Strange with feeling, "what you give me is far more difficult to get on my own. You were talking of aesthetic satisfaction."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I thought we had moved on."

" _You_ moved on. _I_ want to know."

"It is personal."

"Gilbert. You just whipped me like a schoolboy while I screamed and writhed in your lap."

"Jonathan!" said Mr Norrell, with a far more scandalized tone than anyone in his position had a right to.

"Well, you did."

"Yes, but you mustn't describe it like that."

"Come, Gilbert. Please?"

Mr Norrell gave a great sigh. "It is so humiliating," he said. "You know how long I have wanted you."

Strange blinked. "No, I don't."

"Since you were my student," said Mr Norrell irritably, "which was both impractical and unethical."

"That long?" Strange's breath caught in his throat, and he sat up. "I thought it was a recent matter."

"I thought you could see. I was _sure_ you could see, and half of me hoped that you would and you would ask--" He stopped. "Well. Obviously, an inconvenience. Where was I?"

"Aesthetic satisfaction," said Strange.

"You do harp upon that. I had thought of seeing you in moments no one else had for a very long time. Of--not, you understand, of anything _improper_ , but of...having some part of you that no one else would have." His eyes wandered away from Strange's. "All to myself. I gave up on that goal when you left. But to be permitted to see you like this..."

Strange swallowed and reached out to cradle Mr Norrell's face in his hands. "Yes?"

"It is intimacy that I craved. Not the physical, but the emotional. And that is what we have. So I am very content with it."

Strange kissed him, very slowly and intensely. Mr Norrell gave a soft sound, not quite a sigh, and not quite a moan, and pressed in close.

"You are very beautiful," said Mr Norrell, in a matter-of-fact tone that suggested he was not attempting to be romantic, but rather stating a truth. "More beautiful than I ever thought you could be."

"So are you," said Strange softly, and was surprised to find that he meant it. Despite Mr Norrell's plainness, his short stature, his small dry voice, there was something that Strange treasured. Something, now, that was only his.


End file.
